


Evolution

by vshendria



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Discipline, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-11
Updated: 2012-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-01 19:51:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vshendria/pseuds/vshendria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the big confrontation with Lucifer in "Swan Song", Castiel is resurrected but Bobby is not.  Dean does not go to Ben and Lisa but continues hunting.  Meanwhile, Sam is resurrected without his soul and hunts with the Campbells for two years without ever checking in on Dean while Castiel grows increasingly embroiled in his devil's pact with Purgatory.  He stops just short of opening purgatory.  His first step is to convince Death to restore Sam's soul; then, the two of them need to find Dean.  But Dean has changed.  He has a new partner and his partner has no intention of letting Dean go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evolution

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hoodie Time Dean-Focused h/c challenge #6. (http://hoodie-time.livejournal.com/549375.html) in response to this prompt: http://hoodie-time.livejournal.com/549500.html?thread=7220348#t7220348  
> Beta'd by Kinkthatwinked.

For almost two years, Sam hadn’t worried about Dean. He’d been hunting, sometimes on his own, often with his resurrected grandfather and cousins. He’d been happy to assume that Dean was living a safe, contented life with Lisa and Ben. Well, not _content_ , because this was Dean after all. But Sam figured that Dean deserved the chance to make a different life after all that he’d done, saving the world and all that. And that’s what he would have said if anyone asked but the truth was Sam just didn’t want to be bothered about his brother. Dean was high maintenance and Sam liked things tidy.  


He’d had a good enough excuse – lacking a soul – but that didn’t make him any less guilty now that he had it back. Sam didn’t know how Castiel had persuaded Death to do it, and he didn’t want to know.  


Castiel was sitting beside his bed, having given him a few minutes to let the memories settle. “There is a wall in your mind protecting you from your memories of the Pit,” he informed Sam promptly.  


That was just fine with Sam. A lot of the past two years were shrouded in darkness but one thing was crystalline: the way he had ignored Dean.  


The angel looked guilty himself. “I took a wrong path,” he pronounced, and proceeded to explain that he’d made a pact with Crowley to figure out how to open Purgatory. Meanwhile monsters had been on the rampage, breeding and cross-breeding, and Crowley had been getting his torture on… all of which was partly Castiel’s fault. At the last moment, Castiel had managed to extricate himself from what was literally a runaway train straight to hell. The battle with Crowley had nearly led to his destruction but Purgatory wouldn’t be opened, at least not by them.  


“I am ashamed,” Castiel finished. His gaze, usually so forthright, was somewhere on the wall of the cheap hotel room. If Sam hadn’t known better, he’d think that Castiel was admiring the velvet Elvis. “I let pride get the better of me. I wanted to beat Raphael. I told myself it was because this was the best thing for humanity – but really it was just for me.”  


“Where is Raphael now?” Sam thought to ask.  


“In Heaven. Ruling it.”  


Sam sat up rather too suddenly; his head spun a bit painfully. “And is he…?  


“Determined to restart the Apocalypse? He says no but I rather suspect he is lying.”  


Sam remembered a time when he would have assumed, as a matter of course, that angels didn’t lie.  


Castiel saw what he was thinking and nodded sadly. “When you are certain that you are right, you can justify any course of behaviour.”  


“Cas?” Sam was just about ready to stand up, to launch himself to the most obvious, most essential hunt – for Dean. “What stopped you?”  


“Stopped me?”  


“From opening Purgatory.”  


“Oh.” Castiel paced a bit, as much as he could ever be said to pace. He took several steps, facing away from Sam. “Dean. He prayed to me. I hadn’t heard from him in nearly two years and I realized I was too ashamed to go to him. That’s…what stopped me.”  


“Cas, where is he? Is he with Lisa and Ben?”  


“No. He is not.”  


Sam was worried, angry, ashamed and hungry, all sensations that were both dreadful and very welcome. Only yesterday he would have simply shrugged and told himself that Dean was probably fine, then treated himself to a green smoothie and a power bar. “Alone?”  


“No. He is not.”

 

*******

 

If there was anything that Colin bloody well despised, it was seeing something beautiful destroyed by neglect. Like his sister had once been destroyed by creatures no one had even thought could exist, until they did. If his parents had only been a little more vigilant, if he had done better…  


It was past. Now there was Dean, and with Dean he could make a difference.  


He saw Dean for the first time in some bar. He was drawn to Dean before he even realized the boy was a hunter, because Dean was such a magnificent study in contrasts, right from the first glance. Military short hair, totally butch presentation, defensive, angry – and stuck in the middle of all that, two great, green eyes screaming with emotion. He was trying to drink himself to death in front of twenty witnesses. If ever a boy needed to be taken in hand, here he was.  


And so Colin took him.  


It was perfectly simple. He picked Dean up, took him to the bathroom, and started him out with a thorough fucking. Clearly, that was what the boy had been looking for; the fact that he had never before acted on his bisexual leanings was irrelevant. At the end, Dean turned to look at him with all defenses shattered, and Colin took his face between two hands and said, firmly, “Come to my room.” Easy.  


Not so easy was getting Dean to stop drinking. The lad was a career alcoholic by the time Colin got to him. He couldn’t sleep through the night, barely ever ate anymore and was physically ill most of the time. He would shake in the mornings until he got his first drink. The fact of it was he didn’t have much interest in living anymore. Only some sort of compulsive need to keep hunting kept him on his feet, even as he committed his deliberate, medium-paced suicide.  


It enraged Colin. Someone had neglected Dean, or maybe a bunch of someones. Dean was a thing of beauty, and he was dying. Just like Colin’s sister had. If he had kept her under control, if he had forbidden her to go anywhere unsafe, hadn’t let her display herself, she would still be alive.  
It didn’t take long for Dean to want to obey him, he was so well trained. He was made to receive orders. The problem was he needed to be reminded regularly.  


While Dean was detoxing, he was easy to handle. Colin had been well aware of the danger in it. He had been well stocked with prescription drugs including various sedatives and muscle relaxants but he still had needed to call in a doctor, one who had no qualms about seeing a young man handcuffed to a bed. It had been the only way to keep Dean from marching out in search of another bottle.  


At the end of it, Dean was a wrung out, broken mess. The screaming and swearing was past, or so Colin had thought. When Dean got some of his strength back, he quite naturally mounted a bit of a rebellion, not because he really wanted to of course but because his own brain suggested he should be independent.  


Colin had to teach him: he didn’t need nor want to do his own thinking. Decision-making was not for him. Problem was, he’d been left to make his own decisions far too often, and he was in the habit of it.  


The answer came by accident one night. Colin had been trying to persuade Dean that he should not be allowed to choose his own food; his decisions in that realm were appalling! He’d given Dean a really sound thrashing followed by a brutal fucking, which had put Dean in a very pliable mindset for several hours. And what a delight he was during those hours! He was like a needy cat, unsure of what he wanted first, food or affection.  


But Dean only needed a little sleep for the demon in him to be renewed. Colin had to step out for a little air, because he didn’t know if he had the energy for another round and he didn’t want to leave Dean when he had so much promise.  


He stepped back into their room with absolutely no idea what he was going to do and say. He would use his fists again, to be sure. The problem with beating Dean was it wouldn’t work in the long term; when and if Dean regained his health that would be a challenge for Colin, even with his longer reach and extra fifty pounds of muscle.  


Dean was at first nowhere to be found. Colin discovered him huddled on the floor on the far side of the bed. “What are you doing down there?” Colin said, and it came out perhaps a little more sternly than he had intended.  


Dean started and looked up with wet, desperate eyes, and he croaked, “Please.”  


Colin bent down – God, what if it was some delayed symptom from the detoxing? What if Dean was in liver failure? He couldn’t lose Dean now, not like he had lost _her_ – and touched Dean’s shoulder. “What? What is it?”  


Dean had his hand, clinging to it, pressing it against his body like a cherished toy. “Please… don’t go.”  


“I won’t,” Colin said, as though he’d been thinking about it. Well, he had. “I won’t…as long as you’re good for me.” Inwardly, he exulted to see Dean finally broken. Dean was done. He was ready.  


“Okay,” Dean agreed. “Okay.”  


“Because you know what happens when you make decisions.”  


“I fuck up.”  


Colin said, quite gently, “That’s right.”

 

*******

 

With Castiel around, Sam had no trouble locating Dean.  


“He called for me,” Castiel told Sam, “But it was almost involuntary, like he didn’t know he had done it. I looked…I saw where he was and what was happening.”  


“What?” Sam pleaded. “What – where is he?”  


“He is… hunting,” Castiel replied. “But he has a partner. A man.”  


“A partner,” Sam echoed.  


“Yes. An older man named Colin. Another hunter.”  


“Okay,” Sam said. It didn’t sound so horrible.  


“They are also having sex.”  


Sam thought at first he had misheard, not because he didn’t know that Dean was a bit bisexual, but because he’d never have thought it possible for Dean to act on any such desires. Dean was more than a little homophobic. He didn’t much care what other people did with their bodies, but he’d always been so desperately invested in his rigid performance of masculinity, he didn’t dare admit to anything that might seem to contradict it.  


Not that they’d ever talked about it. There were some things you didn’t talk about with Dean. Sam had always had his theories about the whys and hows of Dean’s psyche but he kept them to himself because Dean couldn’t tolerate exposure. Sam loved his brother, so he kept his mouth shut mostly, even when Dean’s ways drove him crazy.  


“Oh,” he said. “Oh.” He blinked. “Please tell me you didn’t bring me back because you disapprove of the idea of two men together.”  


“Of course not,” Castiel replied. He very nearly sniffed. “Contrary to what some humans believe, Heaven has always been utterly indifferent to sexual orientation.”  


Relieved, Sam nearly unclenched. Nearly. He’d never thought about what Castiel knew of his and Dean’s relationship, but it occurred to him to think that angels might not be so sanguine about incest. “So – why do you think –?”  


“They are engaged in what you call, I believe, a discipline relationship. And this man, Colin, he is not a good dom.”  


Sam very gently guided his “borrowed” Cutlass Supreme onto the shoulder of the highway. “Did you –” he began, turning to Cas. “Did you just say –?”  


“He is a bad dom. I believe that is the terminology.”  


Sam’s eyes felt too hot for his face, which was also hot. “How do you know about things like that?”  


“I’ve been watching human beings for many thousands of years, Sam. I am quite well aware of the myriad forms of human sexual expression. Your creativity has always been a source of wonder to my kind.”  


“And you have no problem with BDSM.”  


“Free will is a terrible gift, as I now understand all too well.” Castiel sighed. “Look at what I did with my freedom. I miss having the clarity of obedience. As an angel, I understand quite well the pleasures of submission to another’s will, of knowing you have a place in the universe and belonging to it.”  


Sam couldn’t find any words for a reply.  


Castiel went on, “But this man is not taking care of Dean. He thinks he does, but he is in fact gratifying his own needs.”  


There was nothing left to do but move on to the next question.  


“What is he doing to Dean?”

 

*******

 

On Cas’s instructions, he drove to Omaha. It was a muddy, bleak, half-frozen January day when they pulled up to the motel and sat outside, watching. Cas said that this Colin’s vehicle was the Ford half-ton.  


“Where’s the Impala?” Sam asked.  


“In a garage in Maine.”  


“Why?”  


“Colin doesn’t let Dean drive.”  


This statement triggered a rage that Sam had not felt until this moment. Cas put a hand on his arm and said, “You must be patient, Sam.”  


Sam didn’t quite understand that. In fact, he didn’t understand why he shouldn’t go marching into that room, shoot Colin dead and take Dean back. If his reasons for wanting to do this were not entirely selfless – well, he’d figure that out later.  


There was no sign of Dean or this Colin for a couple of hours, although Castiel assured Sam they were in the room just adjacent to the truck. As it grew dark, Sam saw a light go on, and some motion behind the curtains. Finally, someone came out. It wasn’t Dean. The shape was tall and bulky. It moved with surprising grace, though, given its size. Sam couldn’t make out a face. It got into the truck and drove away.  


Sam put his hand on the door handle.  


“Wait,” Castiel said. “Let me go in and talk to him.”  


“Why?”  


“He thinks you are dead, Sam. If you just appear at the door, it will be a shock.”  


Sam had to admit, there was some sense in Castiel’s suggestion. “I guess it will save us some time. He won’t have to go through all the tests at least.”  


Within a blink, Cas had disappeared in the way that he did that always took Sam by surprise. The wait was interminable. Then, just as suddenly, Cas was back.  


“All right, he has been prepared.” Cas hesitated. “Well, I would not say prepared. He is expecting to see you.”  


The instant Sam knocked, the door was flung open and holy water was dashed in his face.  


“Huh,” said Sam. “So much for saving time.” He wiped off as much of the moisture as he could with his sleeve.  


Then he was looking directly at Dean, who was looking back at him with the tough-as-nails expression he always wore when facing monsters or when lying to Sam about his emotions.  


“Sam.”  


“Yes.”  


“Cas said –” Dean’s voice roughened. He paused, then continued, “He said it’s really you.”  


He was still standing squarely in the doorway. Sam said, “Can I come in and explain?”  


“Cas said you were missing your soul.” The words were nearly barked. _See, nothing to explain, Sam._  


From behind Sam, Castiel said, “That is true, Dean.”  


“That doesn’t make any fuckin’ sense.”  


Sam could see that Dean was breathing quickly, shallowly. He was on the edge of implosion or action – and now Sam saw the shotgun. It wasn’t quite raised, but it was there in Dean’s hand, at the ready.  


“I swear, Dean,” Sam pleaded. “I would have let you know I was alive… if I was myself. But I wasn’t, I was… I didn’t care. I couldn’t.”  


Dean seemed to catch his breath. “And Cas, you never thought to drop by and let me know?”  


“I am sorry, Dean,” Cas said. “I have been very much in the wrong. I can only try to make amends. And … you called me.”  


Dean’s eyes widened. “No, I didn’t.”  


“It is not possible for me to be in error on this matter. You called for me.”  


Dean got very still. His eyes were huge, and Sam noticed just how different he seemed. When he relaxed his threatening posture, the stance he fell into was something altogether different than anything Sam had known. There was something more open, exposed about his body language. He looked haunted, like he hadn’t slept well for some time. He was even dressed differently – in sweats and t-shirt instead of flannel and denim. Despite the fact that the t-shirt was oversized, Sam could tell that Dean was slimmer too. He seemed, oddly enough, a lot younger than he had been. Vulnerable, and that was an impossibility to Sam. In his eyes, Dean had always been powerful, indestructible. Now it was clear that so much of Dean had always been a mask, because the mask was gone.  


Under Sam’s stare, Dean suddenly dropped his eyes and fiddled with the edge of his t-shirt a bit. It was black, and it bore the insignia of Manchester United. Dean had always made his disdain of soccer well-known. _I’d rather watch the Weather Channel, Sam._  


“Dean –” Sam began, not sure what he was going to say.  


Just then the rumble of the pickup became audible. Dean’s eyes darted. His breathing picked up. He blurted, “Go.”  


“Huh?”  


“I want you to go.”  


Sam shook his head. “I can’t do that.”  


Dean’s eyes darted some more. “No,” he gasped out. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to just fucking show up!”  


A strong, male, very British voice said, “What’s going on here?”  


The expression on Dean’s face was something unfamiliar to Sam. In other people, he would have called it panic. Dean started to edge back slightly, apparently seeking the shadows of the room behind him.  


“Dean!” the voice called  


And Dean _froze_.  


Sam turned to face the newcomer and was struck immediately by the fact that this man resembled their father. Not entirely, not as though they were doppelgangers or something, but it was there. The man had dark hair and a beard, shot with grey and an impressive mien of authority. At the moment, he held himself with a cold hostility that topped anything Sam had ever seen from Dean or from his father.  


“Dean. Who are these men?”  


A reasonable question, but Sam didn’t like the tone. He couldn’t fathom Dean taking this from someone, or standing there like a rabbit caught by a predator.  


Two years, Sam reminded himself. Long enough to change anyone.  


“This is Castiel,” Sam said when Dean didn’t seem immediately willing to supply this information. “He’s an angel. And I’m Dean’s brother, Sam.”  


Colin didn’t appear at all startled by the mention of angels, but at the mention of a brother – “You told me he was dead, Dean.”  


“He is – was,” Dean muttered. “He says – says he didn’t have his soul.”  


“And you believe that? What the hell does it even mean?”  


Colin hadn’t raised his voice much but Dean seemed to flinch.  


“It is not a trick,” Cas said, in his best _I-Am-An-Angel-of-the-Lord_ voice.  


“And I should believe you…because why? Because you say you are an angel?”  


“I am an angel,” Cas replied. On cue, Cas let his wings show – what Dean had once referred to as Cas’s “mating display”. It was always impressive.  


“As I explained to Dean,” Cas said quietly. “Shortly after Sam defeated Lucifer, I raised him from the Pit. But I did not succeed entirely. I brought him back without his soul, which is the reason that he did not contact Dean.”  


Colin took this in and then, without a word, stepped firmly in front of Dean, making a barrier of himself. Sam thought he heard a sound of protest.  


“Dean, go wait. “I’ll deal with this.”  


“But –” Dean got out.  


Colin whirled on him. “Go in the bathroom and shut the door! Don’t come out until I open it!”  


Sam almost laughed, so ridiculous was the command, not to mention the notion that Dean might obey it.  


But there was no further sound from Dean. Sam couldn’t see his face either. A moment later, he thought he heard a door shut inside the room. The bathroom door, he supposed.  


Sam had had enough. He moved so that he was eye to eye with Colin, who was wearing the tiniest of satisfied smirks.  


“I want to talk to my brother.”  


“It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think? Anyhow… Dean’s with me now.”  


“So you’re together, so what? Is he never to speak to anyone else? I’m his brother.”  


“So you say, but you left him to kill himself.”  


“ _What_?”  


“You heard me… or did your _angel_ ”—Colin sneered – “not tell you? When I ran into Dean he was busy drinking himself to death. Pretty bleedin’ close to finishing the job, too. I stopped him and I got him to quit, so pardon me if I don’t feel like handing him right over.”  


Sam had used to be a pretty easy crier. Not these days, so much, but all the same he was pretty close to it now. _Oh, Dean._  


“I swear to you, I never expected to come back,” Sam said. “I mean, I thought I would die…and I did. I believe you when you say you saved Dean’s life. He’s… he never did well on his own. But I am back and I am his brother. We’re family. I know he wants to talk to me.”  


Colin folded his massive arms. “And what if he doesn’t?” His eyes drifted over Sam’s shoulder. “Wait,” he said suddenly. “Where is your angel?”

 

*******

 

It had been a while since Dean had felt panic like this. His chest was a vise and he honestly could say he might die without a drink.  


_Sam. Sam was back. It wasn’t real, couldn’t be – Sam couldn’t – must not – see what he’d become --_. Thank God or Satan or whoever that his Dad and Bobby were dead.  


Dean knew he had changed. He was doing things and acting in ways no one who had known him before would have ever thought possible. But everyone who’d known him was dead – supposedly. Even Cas, for all intents and purposes. Dean had practiced not thinking about Cas, had been practicing hard for over a year. But somehow he’d made a mistake, let himself think. Let himself hope. He didn’t remember doing that but he must have.  


He didn’t remember a lot of things. That happened when you were a drunk. And depressed. He could admit that he’d been depressed. Hell, he’d been fucking suicidal. He knew that.  


Oh, Christ, Colin. Colin wouldn’t put up with this. He might leave, and then what? Lately, Dean felt afraid of just about everything. Without Colin…he wouldn’t make it.  


“Dean.”  


Shit.  


“Go away,” he declared.  


Cas’s hand was on his shoulder. No one was supposed to touch him but Colin, unless they were in a fight.  


“Stop!” he muttered. “Fuck you!”  


“Dean, if you want to leave this man, I will make it happen. Just tell me.”  


He gasped, “And where would I go?”  


“With Sam, of course.”  


_With Sam. With. Sam._ The words rattled strangely in his head. “It’s not real,” he said.  


“It is real, Dean.”  


“If he were alive, he would’ve come… ” Dean was about to say something really pathetic. He stopped himself.  


“I swear to you, Dean, if Sam had had his soul he would have come to you. He was not whole, but he is now. He is your brother.”  


“Even without his soul – ”  


Cas put a firm hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I am sorry. We’ve run out of time.”  


Dean caught a glimpse of Colin’s enraged face coming through the door, and then it was gone – and he was looking at another motel room. It could have been any of the countless such rooms he and Sam had stayed in over the years.  


Castiel had just kidnapped him, and Colin was going to be angry. Very angry.  


Dean stared at Castiel, disbelieving. “I want to go back. Send me back!”  


“No,” Castiel said, peaceably. “I am sorry, but it was becoming apparent that you are in no state to make decisions.”  


“Send me back!”  


Dean started to get up, to fight his way past and run wherever he needed to run to get back to Colin but Castiel reached over – and Dean tried to evade him this time but his being an angel and Dean being in a state of anxiety made his dodge less effective than he’d hoped – so Castiel’s fingers touched him – cool, dry – and a moment later he had spiralled down into a dark, silent tunnel.

 

*******

 

Colin had wheeled about, plunging through the room. Once again, Sam could only catch a glimpse of things. The bathroom door opened and Colin was roaring, “No! You sodding bastard!”  


And then he was bearing down on Sam, who barely had time to duck. He returned with a solid blow of his own and was gratified to See Colin stagger a bit.  


“He’s mine!” spat Colin.  


“That’s where you’re wrong,” Sam returned coldly. “I’m his only family. We’ve always been together and all we had was each other. He’s my brother and that makes him mine. I appreciate you looking after him while I was gone, I do, but if you come after him, I’ll have to kill you.”  


It was probably not advisable to turn his back on the man, but he did it anyway. He walked out the door, heading to the car – which, it occurred to him, he should probably trade in for another immediately, before going back to his motel. He was going to assume that Cas and Dean were back at the motel, because where else would they be?  


“You – bastard – ” Colin spat. “This isn’t over.”  


Sam got in the Cutlass Supreme, which he only drove a few more blocks before switching it for a very economical, bland but brand new Hyundai. He drove it at top speed back to the Mi Casa Motel.  


Sure enough, when he stepped inside his room, Cas was standing there and Dean was laid out on the bed, unconscious.  


“Is he -- ?”  


“I had to put the angel whammy on him, yes. He was… very upset.”  


“Was it necessary to just grab him like that?”  


“I think it was.” Castiel wandered over to the window, looked out. “I think should get as far as possible from here now, while Dean is still asleep and Colin has no leads as to his whereabouts.”  


“How determined is this man, do you think?”  


“Very,” Cas said. He turned back. “And Sam. Leave the beer behind. Do you understand me?”  


Sam nodded, momentarily off guard. By the time he found a word, Cas was gone again.  


He loaded his gear and Dean into the car; Dean was laid in the back seat with a blanket over him because it was January and Dean currently had nothing but the clothes he was wearing. Not even shoes.  


As he drove east, Sam kept trying to catch a glimpse of his brother’s face in the mirror but it just wasn’t the right angle. Again he’d noticed, while carrying Dean to the car, that he was a little on the thin side, but he didn’t seem unhealthy either. There was no question in Sam’s mind that Dean belonged with him but still… maybe they were not being entirely fair to Colin. Physically, at least, Dean seemed well. And he wasn’t drinking anymore. That was nearly a miracle.  


God, what if Dean woke up and the first words out of his mouth were, “Get me a drink”?  


Sam didn’t think he could let that happen. He was willing to give up alcohol himself if it meant that Dean stayed off it. Before the Apocalypse and their two year separation Sam hadn’t seen any benefit to trying to push Dean into rehab but now… well, you didn’t throw away a chance like this.  


Two hundred miles outside Kansas City, Sam had to gas up and to use the bathroom. It was easy enough to fill the tank while keeping an eye on Dean. But to use the bathroom – damn, if only the car doors locked from the outside! His bladder was about to explode and he needed coffee.  


Dean hadn’t shown any signs of waking. Sam decided to risk it. Of course, he should have known better. When he got back to the – now empty – Hyundai, there was an SUV pulled up behind his and a woman filling it.  


“Excuse me,” he said, putting on his best college student expression. “I’m travelling with my sick brother and he seems to have wandered off. Did you see him by any chance?”  


“Maybe,” she said, rather surprisingly. “He seemed kind of scared, though. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”  


“Please, he’s not well,” Sam said. “I need to find him. He gets… he gets confused.”  


She considered him, maybe considered his very real desperation. Then, apparently making up her mind, she pointed to the far side of the convenience plaza. “He wanted to use the phone… asked me for a quarter.”  


“Thank you so much!”  


Sam hurried over to where she had pointed. Rounding the building, he got an eyeful of Dean in one of the two phone booths. Dean got a good look at him, dropped the receiver, and tried to bolt for the muddied field just beyond. He didn’t get far, not without shoes. He’d never had much of a head start, and Sam had his long legs.  


When Sam laid hands on him, Dean whirled and struck Sam with all his strength. It set Sam back for a few seconds. When his head cleared, Dean was again lit out, heading nowhere, with nothing. No shoes, no coat, and apparently no destination.  


What happened then was pure instinct on Sam’s part. “Dean!” he yelled. “Stop! You stop right where you are!”  


And, wonder of wonders, Dean stopped. His back was heaving, and Sam could see him shaking with cold from where he stood.  


“Come back here,” Sam said. “Now.”  


Dean turned and came to stand within a few feet of Sam. His expression was pure despair, mixed with something else. A sort of longing, maybe an expectation.  


“I can’t… ” Dean said. “Please.”  


“You can’t what?”  


Dean shook his head. His trembling got more violent.  


“Let’s go back to the car so you can warm up.” Sam took a step, froze when he saw Dean twitch like he was going to run again. “Dean… I just want you to get warm.” He held out a hand. “Come on now.”  


It wasn’t Dean, and it was, the person who came to Sam. Sam was no idiot. He knew he was in the midst of a critical moment when this version of Dean let Sam put an arm on his shoulders and steer him back to the car. Dean let Sam _open the door_ for him. Testing, Sam took it a bit further. He took hold of the seatbelt and pulled it over Dean’s chest, fastening it. The click of the latch seemed to echo loudly in the silence between them. Dean was staring at Sam with an expression Sam didn’t dare to interpret.  


He went around to the driver’s side and sat, turning on the engine and the heat on full blast. Then he held onto the wheel and stared out the windshield for several minutes, finding his words.  


“I’m going to go get you some things, Dean. Dry socks, for a start. I’ll be back in two shakes.” Sam turned his head. “Dean, look at me.”  


Dean turned his own head but refused to look Sam in the eye. His gaze was somewhere below Sam’s chin.  


“We’ll talk more when we get somewhere safe,” Sam said. “For right now, though, I need you to promise me something. Promise me you’ll stay right here until I get back. Will you do that?”  


Dean barely hesitated. “Yes.” It probably didn’t hurt that the air blasting out of the vents was now super-warmed.  


“Did you call Colin?”  


Dean’s head dipped a little bit lower, “I’m sorry, Sam.”  


“Did you tell him where we are?”  


“I don’t know where we are.” Dean was once again looking somewhere else. “Just that we’re… I think we’re near Kansas City.”  


“Okay, good. That’s okay.”  


Dean laid his head back and closed his eyes.  


“I’ll be right back.”  


As Sam had suspected, the travel stop sold everything a truck driver could ever need: socks, underwear, sweaters, coats and even shirts. Everything except boots and shoes. Sam got some of everything, plus coffee and a sandwich for Dean.  


He didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified that Dean was waiting for him in the car exactly as he’d promised, wearing the seatbelt.  


“Here.” Sam handed over the enormous bag. “Change your socks and put on the coat.”  


Dean did just as he was told, disposing of the filthy socks in the back seat. The coat was actually a heavy, plaid, fleece-lined shirt. It had seemed like Dean’s style in the store but once it was on him… it just dwarfed him. As for the coffee –  


“I’m not allowed to have caffeine.”  


“What?” Sam said before he could censor himself. “What the fuck?”  


Dean’s cheeks heated visibly. He had not taken so much as a sip of the coffee, though. “It keeps me up… Colin says.”  


“Colin says,” Sam echoed. It was almost funny, except it wasn’t. He put the car in gear.  


“No coffee, then. Eat.”  


“I don’t like tuna.”  


“I don’t care.”  


Without another word, Dean opened the plastic package and ate the sandwich. Then he fell asleep, head supported by the seatbelt strap. Sam had never seen him sleep so readily, but then perhaps without the caffeine in him he could capitalize on thirty years of missed slumber.  


It was just as well, because Sam needed time to think.  


He was not completely unfamiliar with the dynamics of dominance and submission. He’d done a little role-playing here and there, in his college days, and he’d always been partial to taking a bit of control, when he could. He’d dropped that entirely with Jess because she’d had no interest, other than a bit of rough sex now and then. It had been a while, though, and he was no expert. He needed to get read up.  


To complicate matters, Sam wasn’t entirely sure what Dean was expecting of him. He wasn’t sure if Dean was asking for anything at all, although he had a feeling about it. Sure, he’d wished plenty of times that Dean would lay off the booze or eat a vegetable, but this was something else. It was one thing to imagine that Dean would listen to him about something and another to give him orders.  


And was this supposed to be a sex thing? Was Dean suddenly asking his brother for a sexual relationship?  


It wasn’t like nothing had ever happened between them. They’d been too close as children and teenagers. Dean had been Sam’s first crush. For a little while, Sam had been the one making the advances, and Dean mostly refusing but Sam was an insistent little brat as an adolescent. He’d used the fact that Dean could refuse him nothing. It had worked, up to a point. Then Dean had gotten wise and suddenly was out every night with a different girl and they’d never, ever spoken of what had happened between them. There was not much to speak of, really. A week of snuggling in the same bed, of showers taken together, a few mutual handjobs…  


So maybe Sam had looked at Dean more than once over the years and thought about the sensation of stroking Dean’s sleek, gleaming skin in the shower. Maybe he’d noticed Dean’s beauty to himself with a kind of wistful ache. Maybe he’d had an occasional dream about his brother. He’d never allowed himself to think that these were moments to be acted upon. He’d imposed a strict ban on thinking about Dean when he masturbated. It wasn’t even that difficult, because there was no thought that anything could ever happen.  


So what did Dean expect, or rather, what was he prepared to tolerate? Sam might have rescued him but he wasn’t acting like he wanted his freedom. He might not be thinking clearly. And if he was tolerating something to keep Sam around (at least in his mind) and doing the things that Sam wanted, wasn’t Sam just as bad as Colin? Castiel had said, more or less, that Dean had been traumatized.  


Long story short: Sam needed to lay off.  


He wouldn’t touch Dean, that was for sure. As for the whole dominance-submission routine… he’d have to fly by the seat of his pants. Dean might wake up in a few hours and want to be his old self again.

 

*******

 

Sam pulled into a Motel 6 just outside Des Moines.  


He hadn’t even thought about where he should go. He had no idea of Colin’s resources either. Colin was a hunter, so presumably he could track them if they didn’t take some precautions. But Sam was exhausted, and Dean didn’t have shoes. There was so much to think about.  


The moment Sam put the car in park, Cas’s voice said, from the back seat, “Sam.”  


Dean stirred, opening his eyes.  


“We’re going to stop for the night,” Sam told him.  


“I figured,” Dean groused.  


Dean sounded so much like himself that Sam looked sharply at him, wondering if everything had changed. Dean’s eyes were clear, forthright – but after a second he looked away.  


“Cas,” Sam said, “I need you to do us a favour. Can you – um – can you find some boots for Dean?”  


“You want me to shop for you?”  


“No, I thought you could just – you know.”  


“Steal them.”  


“It’s either that or I carry Dean into the motel.”  


“I can walk!” Dean said.  


“And ruin some more socks?”  


Dean was almost squirming, apparently with discomfort. His face was red.  


“Give me a moment,” Cas said, and left them alone.  


Sam couldn’t help staring at Dean, trying to interpret every little twitch, every look. But Dean was trying not to meet his eyes. The old Dean would work to fill uncomfortable silences with banter. This Dean was apparently struggling with embarrassment over the notion of Sam carrying him, even though he’d all but invited Sam to be his caretaker.  


“I don’t want to talk,” Dean muttered.  


“Dean.”  


“I can’t, Sammy.”  


Of all the things about Dean that had ever been bothersome to Sam, this was the topper. Dean’s outright refusal to say what he was feeling. It was _maddening_.  


“No,” Sam burst out. “This is not acceptable, Dean. You hear me? I need to know what you’re thinking. It’s important, because I can’t read your goddamned mind!”  


The impossible happened: Dean stared at him with big eyes gone suddenly moist, hurt. “I’m sorry,” he breathed.  


Sam ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “No, I’m sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t have gotten angry. I just… will you answer some questions for me?”  


“Yes, Sammy.”  


“Do you want to go back to Colin?”  


Dean stared and stared. The moisture grew and a single tear leaked. “I don’t know.”  


“How can you not know?!”  


“He…” Dean started, and stopped.  


“He…?”  


Maybe Dean would have said something. Maybe not. In any case, Castiel reappeared with boots and they were even in Dean’s size.  


The next several minutes involved getting all of them and their gear installed in a room. Since Dean had no gear, he helped Sam carry in his stuff. Then there was a shock when Sam asked Dean to order food and discovered that Dean not only had no cash, he didn’t even have a wallet.  


“I.D.’s?” Sam queried.  


“Colin has all of them. And he said…. He didn’t let me carry cash.” At Sam’s face, Dean added quickly, “I would have bought booze, Sam.”  


Sam calmed down quickly. Whatever else Colin had done, he’d gotten Dean sober and kept him there. That was a considerable accomplishment, and Sam spared a moment to wonder just what that had required of the man – and what it had taken out of Dean.  


“Okay,” Sam said. “Okay. Is pizza all right with you?”  


“I’m not allowed to – ”  


“Of course.” Sam saw a card on the bedside table, for Maisie’s Diner. He called up, ordered two salads, four chicken wraps and some pie. Hanging up, he caught Dean’s look. “No pie?”  


Dean shook his head.  


“That changes now.”  


Castiel, who had been standing quietly near the window, gave Sam a nod.

 

*******

 

The wraps were dry and tasteless like wraps usually were. Dean had stopped minding or really caring how things tasted – but the pie! He couldn’t remember the last time he’d tasted anything so good. Sam kept giving him approving smiles while he ate, too, and that felt wonderful.  


It was really Sam. Sam was back, somehow. Dean had truly given up on ever seeing Sam again, even when Dean inevitably got sent back down to the Pit. Sam was – had been, he thought – in the high security wing down below. Not quite solitary confinement, with the worst cell mate in the universe. Except now he wasn’t, he hadn’t been, and he was here and he was alive –  


Even as he swallowed the last few mouthfuls of pie, Dean felt anxiety burbling in his stomach. He’d disobeyed and he’d defiled his body. When he disobeyed Colin would punish him and he’d feel better. He was made of shit but, he’d learned, punishment made the self-hate drain away, at least for a while so he could catch his breath. As long as Colin was there, making the important decisions and giving Dean the structure he craved, he could function. He could do the job one more day, he could look people in the eye long enough to interview them. He could strike down monsters, or at least he could help Colin do it.  


But now, shit, he’d eaten pie and it was almost his bedtime and he hadn’t had his bath, none of it and he was climbing the walls. He had no idea what Sam even thought of him now, that he had become this. Sam kept looking at him like he was a freak, which he was.  


He wanted to be with Sam, god, he did, but he needed Colin.  


“Dean?”  


Dean realized that he was hyperventilating and Sam was staring.  


“Are you okay?”  


No, most definitely not. Most definitely not okay, and soon Sam was going to know absolutely everything and be disgusted with him.  


Shaking his head, Dean edged towards the bathroom. “Just… gonna take a shower.” He somehow got in there and got the door shut – another transgression. Colin would be beating the crap out of him soon – no. There was no Colin. Not tonight anyhow.  


He had to be good for Colin, as good as possible at least.  


He turned on the shower to camouflage what he was doing, then stuck a finger down his throat and got rid of the pie.

 

*******

 

“Cas – ” Sam said, staring at the closed door. “What’s going on? And, by the way, why did you just grab Dean like that?”  


“I did it because I realized that Dean would never decide to leave on his own and yet he needed to leave. You saw yourself that Dean is confused. He may still try to go back.”  


“But you said Colin was abusing him.”  


“Yes, I did, and he was.”  


“Cas…” Sam spread his hands. “I don’t know what to do.”  


“Yes, you do. You did this afternoon, and then you talked yourself out of it.”  


“I don’t…” Sam gaped. “Were you reading my mind?”  


“I can’t read minds, Sam. And while there are many things about human beings I don’t understand, this I do. Dean lost everything, Sam. He lost you and he lost alcohol. All he had was the structure Colin provided, and their sexual relationship. Now we’ve taken that from him and he’s panicking. And I’m sure he fears your judgment. You must go in there and show him you’re okay with who he is now… and you must assert your will.”  


“But… maybe if I give him time, he’ll be the old Dean again. I don’t want to hurt him more!”  


“You won’t hurt him, Sam, by taking care of him. That’s the difference. You must do this, for Dean.”  


“Do you even know what you’re saying?”  


“Yes,” Castiel returned. “And I don’t think you are being asked to do anything abhorrent to you, Sam. I know what has been between you and Dean.”  


“And you’re okay with it,” Sam said in disbelief.  


“You and Dean have always been very close. Your relationship is what it is. I don’t think you’ll be hurting anyone, Sam. You won’t even hurt each other.”  


Sam choked out a laugh. “This from an angel.”  


“Angels are not moral arbiters, Sam, whatever humans may think. We aren’t judges. We act. We follow orders, and we give orders. Personally, I’m quite okay with that. And so are you, I think.”  


Cas threw a somewhat concerned look at the door. “Get in there, Sam. Do whatever suits you, but impose your will and be consistent.”  


Sam stood, flexing nervously. This was really happening. “Please tell me you aren’t going to watch.”  


The angel blinked, then said solemnly, “I will go away to give you some time together, and I shall not watch.”  


“Thank you. You promise?”  


“Yes,” Cas sighed. “Pinky swear. But you must promise me something.”  


“What?”  


“Make no assumptions based on who Dean used to be. He has been broken far too many times. Consider that a good thing. You have a chance to build a new Dean. Don’t waste it.”  


And with these words, Cas was gone.  


It was with shaking hands that Sam reached for the bathroom door. To his surprise, it wasn’t locked. To his even greater surprise, Dean was not in the (running) shower. The room was cloudy with steam, and Dean was on his knees in front of the toilet with a finger down his throat. In almost the same instant Sam shouted, “Dean!” and Dean was starting back guiltily, unbalancing and falling against the tub.  


Glancing briefly in the toilet, Sam confirmed that, yes, Dean’s most recent meal was in there. He flushed it away, then reached over and shut off the shower.  


“Dean,” he said, “Come out of here and sit on the bed. We’re going to talk.”  


No request, this time. It was not up to Dean. Sam was going to ask and Dean was going to answer.  


Dean was shaking yet again, Sam noticed.  


“Here,” Sam offered. Taking Dean’s arm, he guided him towards one side of one of the beds. He kept his voice kind but firm. He got Dean settled with his back braced up against some pillows. Dean crossed his legs, yet one more thing that he had rarely done before. Sam sat facing him, pulling one leg up onto the bed while the other remained touching the floor. It felt right. He had access to and from the bed, he was near Dean, more than half blocking any escape attempt that Dean might make. But they were not on the bed together, not entirely, which was the important thing.  


“Why, Dean? Tell me.”  


“I’m not supposed to have pie,” Dean said immediately.  


“But you’re with me now, not Colin, and I don’t think the occasional piece of pie will do any harm. It looked like you enjoyed it.”  


“I did.”  


“Then… why?” Sam lowered his voice. “Are you that frightened of Colin finding out?”  


Even with everything Cas had said, Sam was still bracing himself for a punch. But it didn’t come.  


“It isn’t that,” Dean said. “I…” He stopped and looked inquiringly at Sam, as if to say _Can I really tell you? Without you hating me?_  


Sam put a hand on Dean’s knee. “Dean, I know what kind of a relationship you and Colin had. And I’m not judging you, you understand? I really don’t care.”  


He kept his hand firmly on Dean’s knee.  


“What I’m afraid of,” Sam continued, “is that he didn’t follow the rules, that he hurt you, left you uncertain and scared. And that I do have a problem with.”  


“It’s because of me!” Dean gasped suddenly. “I’m no good… I’m a piece of shit, I can’t even follow simple orders –”  


“I find that hard to believe, Dean. I saw how you followed orders all those years with Dad. And by the way, a discipline relationship is supposed to make you stronger. It’s not supposed to make you feel like shit.”  


“What do you know about it?” muttered Dean, glowering at his hands.  


“More than you think.” Cupping Dean’s chin, Sam forced it up. “Like I know this attitude you’re giving me right now isn’t going to fly.”  


Dean’s eyes fell immediately. “Sam.”  


“What?”  


“Sammy.”  


“What? Ask it.”  


“Are you saying… you’ll…” Even with all that had happened, it had to be hard to get the words out.  


“Look at me, Dean.” Sam waited until he was again gazing full into Dean’s eyes. Once they had been a guarded fortress, but someone had come along and busted those walls, breaking them down to nothing. “I’m saying I want to take care of you, and I will take care of you.”  


“You’re not disgusted?”  


“Fuck, no. Dean, don’t you know how bad I always wanted to boss you around? It’s my lifelong dream.”  


As he’d hoped, Dean laughed, just a bit. “You always did like to take control.”  


“I do,” Sam agreed. “And here’s Rule Number One.”  


Dean gulped, going sombre and dreamy in an instant. “What?”  


“You tell me things. I mean everything, you understand? When I ask a question, you answer. And you don’t lie. You have no secrets from me.”  


Again, a punch should have been forthcoming and yet Sam got only a quiet, “Okay, Sammy.”  


“Tell me… did Colin beat you?”  


“Yeah.”  


“How often?”  


“It… changes. Sometimes a lot… last time was two weeks ago.”  


“What does he do?”  


“He just hits me… on the body mostly. Sometimes he whips me with his belt, or he –” Dean paused, continued monotone: “Sometimes he fucks me without any prep.”  


His eyes were hanging on Sam, pleading for judgment. Sam didn’t give it. He’d been expecting something like this. He was deliberately non-reactive. “Do you like that?”  


Dean closed his eyes.  


“Dean. I asked you a question.”  


“Yeah.”  


“Yeah…?”  


“I like it. It hurts like fucking hell but… it always makes me feel better.”  


Now Sam had to pause, to get the better of himself. He wanted to kill Colin. “What did you do wrong?”  


Dean took a while before he answered, and then it was in a flood. “I don’t know, I don’t! I wanted to be good for him but somehow I kept screwing up! I’m a fuck-up, I don’t know what I did but somehow I keep breaking –” He choked on a sob. “I want to be good.”  


“I know you do, Dean,” Sam soothed, inwardly considering various forms of murder. “And you are good. I know you are.”  


Dean shook his head. Tears were running freely now. Sam grasped his upper arms and held him steady.  


“You are good, Dean. You’re the best person I’ve ever known.”  


“Maybe I’ve saved a few people… but how many did I let die?”  


“You saved the world, Dean! At the cemetery I never would’ve had the strength if you hadn’t come there, if you weren’t there for me.”  


“But I started it –” Dean was close to disintegrating now. “I broke the first seal, I started it, I did it, it’s my fault – ”  


This was rapidly going south. Sam had to halt the descent. “Stop it, Dean!” he said sharply.  


“ – and I let you die.”  


Sam really did want to impose some discipline suddenly. “That’s absurd, Dean. I made a choice. That’s not on you. And, quite frankly, it makes me angry to hear you talking like this. You’re forbidden to think that way, do you understand? If you start feeling like everything is on you, you tell me and I’ll deal with it.”  


Dean sniffed, wiping his nose with an oddly childlike gesture. “How?” he asked, almost challenging.  


“I’ll punish you.”  


“How?”  


Sam admitted, “I haven’t figured it out yet. But believe me… it’ll hurt.”  


Dean glanced down, and Sam realized that he was holding onto his brother rather tightly. He let go.  


“I want you tell me all of Colin’s rules.”  


“Why?” Dean asked, and Sam was relieved to know that he could still use that word.  


“Because I need to know.” For one thing, he needed some idea of Dean’s expectations, not that Sam would necessarily follow in Colin’s wake. He could do with a few ideas, though.  


Once Dean had told him everything – he hoped it was everything – Sam knew finally, irrevocably, that his brother was not the same Dean anymore. It was perhaps a bit of a comfort, given what he was going to be doing with Dean himself. It gave him courage.  


Still, he couldn’t help feeling a little nervous as Dean’s former bedtime – 10:00 – ticked near. Sam was more than tired enough to sleep, but what if Dean wasn’t? What if Dean balked, and Sam had to think up a punishment?  


“It’s almost bedtime,” Sam said. “We don’t even have a toothbrush for you, we’ll have to go shopping tomorrow.”  


“Okay.”  


“I’m going to go take a shower. I want you to stay right here. Don’t go anywhere and don’t call anyone.”  


“Yes.”  


“You can watch something – a nature program.” Sam turned on the TV, surfed until he found the Discovery Channel, then put the remote on the top of the TV. The channel was showing something about underwater fish. “Stay put.”  


“Okay, Sammy.”  


Sam’s stomach actually quivered. With rising excitement, he went into the bathroom to shower.  


Suddenly the possibilities were endless. He could educate Dean, it occurred to him. He could make him watch educational programs. He could even make Dean read books! Why not stop hunting – or at least live in one place, make a base of operations like Bobby had? Why not? If he wanted it, then Dean would have to go along. And he did want it – for Dean, especially. Dean was smart, and generous, and sensitive. He didn’t have to go through life pretending he was some plastic G.I. Joe action figure. The apocalypse was done, over – for now, at least. They could have a semblance of a life, not that they’d ever be normal per se. And Dean wasn’t normal anyway. Dean was special. He just refused to realize – a trait that had always pissed Sam off.  


Sam emerged from the bathroom a bit later with damp hair and cheeks flushed, not entirely from the heat of the shower. He’d donned a t-shirt and boxers, and for several seconds he was certain that he was going to join Dean in bed, but he quickly realized he didn’t have the nerve. In mid-stride, he changed direction, sat on the bed opposite Dean.  


“I’m beat,” he said. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”  


Dean shook his head. He didn’t look happy.  


“What?”  


“I’m supposed to have a bath.”  


Sam sighed to himself. Being a good dom, he realized, was going to be hard work. Tonight he just happened to be wrecked… and anyways, maybe he could do things a little different.  


“I’m not Colin,” he reminded Dean. “And you don’t need a bath tonight.” At Dean’s continuing face of disappointment, Sam nearly barked, “You don’t have any clean clothes anyway.”  


Dean just looked at his hands.  


“You wearing boxers?”  


“At that, the head came up. “Yes.”  


“Lose the sweats and the t-shirt. And then get under the covers.”  


Dean nearly jumped off the bed. He was certainly no less agile than he had been, ditching his jogging pants and the damned Manchester United.  


Sam went and shut off the TV. When he turned back around, he was confronted with an expanse of Dean’s skin – gorgeous as ever, but marred by a number of bruises in various stages of healing. Some yellowish, others still bluish-purple. Sam took one step forward, not missing Dean’s slight flinch. It was minute, like he was resisting the need to dodge out of reach. Sam gently laid a hand on Dean and turned him, taking in the damage. There was a laceration on Dean’s lower right side that had to have been the product of a fairly severe blow with something metal – a belt buckle perhaps. Blood had been drawn. And there was no telling how many times something similar had happened.  


“Fuck,” Sam muttered, nearly blind with rage. “I’ll kill him… fucker!”  


“Sam…” Dean tried to intervene. “Sammy.”  


“Don’t tell me you wanted it!”  


“I needed it.”  


Closing his eyes, Sam tried to calm himself. He doubted rather much that the blows had all been delivered in accordance a consensual discipline relationship. It couldn’t be when the recipient of the blows had no idea when, why, or how they were coming – but it would probably do no good to Dean’s fragile self-esteem now to review the history of every last mark on his body.  


“No one touches you from now on,” Sam growled. “I mean _no one_.”  


“Except you,” Dean reminded. He seemed genuinely worried that Sam had forgotten.  


“Except me. Of course.” Sam tried hard but his voice still shook a little. “Get under the covers.” Dean obeyed readily, even eagerly. Sam was going to be between Dean and the door. For most of their lives it had been the other way around. “Come here,” he said, opening his arms.  


Without hesitation, Dean moved closer, fitting himself in close to Sam, nudging his head under Sam’s chin. Sam closed his embrace, astonished to find bare, smooth skin even though he’d demanded it. His heart was pounding, his dick waking finally to the notion of _yes_. Sam squirmed, trying to figure out a way to avoid Dean feeling it but it was hopeless.  


“Sammy,” Dean whispered. “Are you going to fuck me?”  


Sam’s cheeks ignited. That he wanted Dean, that part had never needed to be said. It was old news. “No,” he said. “Not…yet. I want to take this slowly.”  


“But you will.”  


Sam found that with each second he was struggling a little less with the concept. “Oh, yes.”  


Dean sighed a little.  


“You do –want me?” Sam asked.  


There was a slight hesitation. “Yeah.”  


“Dean,” Sam said sternly. “You don’t lie to me… or I’ll take my belt to you, I’m not kidding.” He was surprised to hear himself saying that. Only a few minutes ago he’d been thinking rather ill of Colin for hurting Dean that way – but it wasn’t the whipping, he realized, that had bothered him. It was the lack of pretext.  


Dean shivered slightly in Sam’s arms. He said, “I haven’t… I haven’t wanted anyone since you died. Before that, even. But I do want you to fuck me, Sammy. It’s a part of _this_ , and… and I want this.”  


Running a finger down Dean’s neck, into his hair, Sam was gratified to feel Dean all but purr, and snuggle even tighter. Maybe he didn’t want sex, but Dean was more than happy to be touched. “It doesn’t have to be,” Sam proposed. “A part of it, that is.”  


“But Sammy – ”  


“All I’m saying is… we’ll play it by ear, okay?”  


“But I can still… sleep here?”  


Sam laughed. “Oh, yes!”  


Dean’s sigh was patently relieved.  


“Are you going to be able to sleep?”  


Dean’s hair tickled his chest as he nodded.  


“You never used to sleep so much… but it’s good, Dean. It’s a good thing.”

 

*******

 

Sleeping with Sammy, then. Or actually, Sammy was sleeping; Dean had slept too much today. As long as Sam didn’t find out, Dean was still good.  


All his life he’d wanted to be good. It was the only thing he’d ever wanted. Dean didn’t know how you ever spoke truths like that out loud. They were just too private, too intimate.  


For a long time he’d figured it must have been his fault that Sam had wanted him that way, and that they couldn’t seem to be apart from each other. But tonight he had just been afraid that Sam was going to get into that other bed, leaving him alone. He hadn’t been alone for a while now and he couldn’t do that anymore. He would die. Fast or slow, it wasn’t all laid out but he would die.  


Sam smelled so good. Better than Colin ever had, even after his smell grew to be familiar and safe – mostly. Colin had smelled of cigars and his own scent, the particular soaps he preferred and the stuff he used in his hair. So did Sam but with Sam all of those things were familiar and known. They were the smells of home, the only home he’d ever had, really.  


Every time Sam had left him he’d wanted to die, but he’d always been proud of Sam for making the break. It was more than he could do. Now, though… Sam was here and he was saying… What? He was going to stick around for good?  


Hardly seemed likely. It probably helped that Dean was willing to put out, and since his father and Bobby would never find out, it was a way to go. The only way, really.  


Colin had been – okay, Dean would admit it to himself, Colin was a bit random at times, but he was still right about so many things. Colin had shown him that there was no way for Dean to manage his own affairs and not fuck up. More than that… Dean didn’t even want to try anymore. Colin had helped him understand that there was peace in letting go.  


With Sammy here now, there could be peace for real. Sammy was smarter than him, so much smarter, and he’d always had a certain… self-sufficiency, that Dean had envied and admired. Sam could be coldly ruthless, just like their Dad. He made decisions and stuck to them.  


In his sleep, Sam made a half snuffle, half snore, and tugged Dean a little closer.  


Sam could be possessive, too. It felt good to know that Sam considered Dean his.  


He must have fallen asleep after all, because the next thing Dean knew he was waking up and Sam was directly in his view, pulling on a shirt. He smiled at Dean, maybe a bit shy about it.  


“Here.” Sam tossed a shirt at him, then a hoodie – blue and dark blue. They were Sam’s.  


Dean sat up, letting himself be taken by a little shiver of happiness. When he got out of bed, he was wearing the shirt and hoodie. He went for his sweats but Sam said, “No,” and went to paw through his kit. “I don’t want you wearing anything of his. Nothing.”  


The sweats had been Dean’s but he didn’t complain. He wore Sam’s clothes that hung off him and he didn’t care.  


They went down to Maisie’s for breakfast. Sam pushed him into a booth and sat down next to him, hemming him in. Then Sam ordered his breakfast for him – oatmeal and fruit. Sam had pancakes.  


“I was thinking,” Sam said.  


“Yes?”  


“After breakfast, I’m going to call Colin.”  


Dean’s stomach dropped hard. “Okay,” he said, half in question.  


“Dean?” Sam was looking hard at him. “What are you thinking?”  


“That you don’t want to keep me.”  


“That’s ridiculous, Dean. I’m going to have to do something about this obstinate self-hatred of yours.”  


“Sure, Sammy.”  


“You don’t believe me? Just wait. Now, what I was going to say… I’m going to call Colin and tell him that you want to stay with me. Do you think he’ll accept that?”  


Dean thought about it. “I really don’t know. Maybe if I told him – ”  


“I don’t want you talking to him.”  


“Okay.”  


“I’m not angry at you for suggesting it. I’m just saying. I won’t have him ever touch you again, or see you, or talk to you.”  


“Sam.” Dean found the words with difficulty. “He did save my life.”  


“I know, and I’m grateful for it. I’ll tell him so. But I don’t think his reasons were all that noble.”  


Dean thought that Sam didn’t know Colin but he didn’t say it.  


“What?” Sam said.  


Christ, could he read Dean’s mind now?  


“That’s not exactly fair,” Dean muttered.  


Sam got quiet, and that was never a good sign. Dean wanted to take back his words, but it was too late. He was a fuckup as usual.  


“Eat your breakfast,” Sam commanded.  


Dean hated oatmeal, but he dug his spoon into the slop and took one bite after another, swallowing each with pure determination. He could be good, for Sam. He would be perfect.


End file.
